


hate to say i'm too strong

by redpaint



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Crossdressing, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22012507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpaint/pseuds/redpaint
Summary: He picks out cheap items to better prove to himself how little he cares about this. A yellow summer dress that ASOS has on deep clearance. Secondhand white leather heels that he spots at a market and pretends to buy as a gag gift. A pair of cotton over-the-knee socks from Amazon, and so what if he splurges a little for the ones with the bows on the front? Clothes arrive at his home in anonymous little bags, smelling like industrial chemicals that will irritate his skin.
Relationships: Alexander Albon/Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen
Comments: 9
Kudos: 75





	hate to say i'm too strong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rinandulric](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinandulric/gifts).



> for rin, malex icon

Max shoves Charles onto the bed with more force than really feels safe. Charles looks a little scared, but there’s a visible bulge in his jeans and that just means that everything is going to plan. Charles always wants _more, harder, meaner, s’il vous plait daddy,_ and Max has gotten used to obliging him. He crawls on top of Charles and pins him with an arm across the throat, groping under his shirt with his other hand. He wants to rake his hands down Charles’s sides, he knows Charles will spend ages staring at the scratches in the morning, but before he can his fingers graze a bit of silky smooth fabric.

“What’s this?” Max asks, injecting as much contempt into his voice as he can. Charles screws up his face and doesn’t answer. He loves this.

Max pushes up Charles’s shirt with his free hand and bends to look. It’s a flimsy thing, a longline silk bralette with embroidered hearts over the nipples. The fabric is warm from being so close to Charles’s skin.

Charles finally decides to find his voice. “You don’t like my pretty underwear?” he asks, all coquettish parted lips and comically wide eyes. Max looks down; there’s a strip of pale pink fabric riding above the waist of Charles’s jeans. Charles is nothing if not inventive in finding ways to be humiliated. Who is Max to deny him?

“Dressing like a slut for me? Makes sense,” Max says, and slaps Charles hard across the cheek, no warning.

⁂

He picks out cheap items to better prove to himself how little he cares about this. A yellow summer dress that ASOS has on deep clearance. Secondhand white leather heels that he spots at a market and pretends to buy as a gag gift. A pair of cotton over-the-knee socks from Amazon, and so what if he splurges a little for the ones with the bows on the front? Clothes arrive at his home in anonymous little bags, smelling like industrial chemicals that will irritate his skin.

He spends a little more on the underwear and tells himself that it’s for Charles. who’s the kind of person who would know about these things. He probably turns his nose up at loose strings and poorly sewn hems, only lets himself be degraded when he’s wearing something expensive and French. Max buys the bra and panties knowing that they’ll be too big for Charles anyway.

Because the thing is, throatfucking Charles and calling him _filthy girl_ and making him say he wanted Max to come on his tits was fun and all, honestly pretty hot, but the whole time Max couldn’t shake the desire to touch the material of the bra, runs his hands across the lace panties over and over, until he ultimately came to the inescapable conclusion that he should be the one wearing them instead.

He even stole the bra, stuffed it in his bag and then feigned ignorance while Charles upended his room looking for it. “Text me when you find it,” Charles had ordered before leaving, and Max had found it alright, found it a few times and then needed to put it in the washing machine before he would let himself _find it_ again. There wasn’t any reason Charles needed it back immediately, right?

But despite the fact that he’s jerked off every day this week thinking about how the socks feel against his skin and how the dress brushes against his thighs and how it all makes him feel _pretty_ , he will not let himself believe that this is his thing. Or that it’s a big deal. Or that anyone needs to encourage it.

In all reality, he should just have Charles around again. He would be able to empathize, but Charles and Max’s relationship has only ever worked in one way, and that’s when Charles obediently gets on his knees and Max calls him a stupid whore. Dealing with anything as equals is out of the question. Just the thought of it feels unstable, explosive.

So instead he wears the clothes and jerks off until it’s not enough and then he snaps and he calls Alex. It should make him feel guilty, maybe, but there’s no way Max is the only guy Charles is seeing, and anyway, teammates don’t count, right?

Alex scans his outfit from head to toe. His hand half-covers his face so Max can’t get a read on his expression. “What’s going on?” Alex asks, nodding towards Max’s, well, everything.

“You don’t like my pretty, er, clothes?” Max replies, trying and failing to look Alex in the eyes. Damn it, how does Charles manage to be both coy and totally fucking clear on what he wants at the same time? Before this, Max had never been shy a moment in his goddamn life.

“Well, they’re very nice and all, but why are you wearing them?” Alex says as he takes a step closer, looking more intently at the scalloped edge of the dress.

Max is going to have to be a little more obvious. He slides off the bed and onto his knees, forces himself to look up and fix Alex with a confident stare. “You should slap me around a little. I bet you want to. I’d want to if I were you.”

“Max, you can’t be serious,” Alex says, keeping his voice light like he’s waiting for the second half of the joke, but Max can hear the shadow of concern in it.

Max grabs Alex’s hand and holds it up to his cheek. “Dead serious,” he says.

Alex’s hands are so broad; Max can imagine the loud crack of skin on skin and how his whole face would sting from cheekbone to jaw. Alex is tall enough that he could overpower Max, no problem. If he wanted to he could pin Max to the floor, push his face into the carpet and hold him there with a knee on his back. He could rip the dress and pull the longest bits of Max’s hair and remind him that he’s not anyone’s _pretty girl,_ he’s just seriously sad and messed up and disgusting, and that fucking him would be a favor. Alex would fit the role in Max’s fantasy so well. Why won’t he _do it?_

Alex’s hand tenses slightly against Max’s cheek. Max braces himself, but the impact never comes. Instead, Alex cups his jaw and runs his thumb over his cheek. It’s disgustingly tender, the most intimate way Max has been touched in years.

“Stand up,” Alex says, quiet but firm, and Max does, balancing unsteadily on his heels. With the shoes, he’s actually taller than Alex, a realization that makes him want to get back on his knees. Alex needs to either set him right or leave. There’s no use in him gawking at Max’s amateurish display. It only makes Max more aware of how awkward and unappealing he really looks, how much of a mistake this was.

“Sorry, I was— You can go. I was just joking, I mean—” Max mumbles. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, like maybe if he gets small enough he can pretend he’s invisible and Alex never saw any of this.

“Wait, don’t be embarrassed,” Alex says, and there’s more than a little worry in his voice now. He puts his hand on Max’s hip, and Max wishes he would grip harder, hard enough to hurt and bruise, but instead he just uses it to guide Max a little closer until they’re nearly chest-to-chest. “I think you look amazing,” Alex says. Max hates how much he wants to hear Alex say it again. “But you’re wrong. I don’t want to hurt you. I want to kiss you. How’s that?”

It’s pretty far off-script, not what Max had even thought anyone would want from him, especially like this. But Alex is already halfway there, his breath warm against Max’s lips when he speaks. Max nods with his eyes closed because suddenly Alex is plying him with a series of small closed-mouth kisses and walking him back towards the bed. Max sinks back onto it and pulls Alex down with him. His dress is riding up on his thighs but he doesn’t care because Alex’s weight is on top of him, firm and solid and perfect. Alex holds his hands above his head, interlacing their fingers. Max can’t move exactly, but it’s more comforting than restrictive. Alex takes his time kissing him with an unhurried confidence that makes Max envious.

Christ, he’s fucked, isn’t he? He’d called Alex here for a hard, uncomplicated fuck, one that would maybe get this _thing_ out of his system for good. Now he wouldn’t even mind if all they end up doing is kissing, fully clothed, on the bed. And if they did it again tomorrow. And the day after that.

Luckily, Alex seems to have more in mind than that. One of his hands moves down to stroke Max’s thigh. He runs a finger under the elastic band of the socks, making Max shiver. “Did you still want to suck me off?” Alex asks. He’s teasing: it’s clear that he already knows the answer when he asks. He bites his lip when Max nods eagerly.

Alex props himself up against the pillows at the headboard and Max crawls in close, looks up at him from between his thighs. Alex makes a low noise at the sight. “Now that’s a good girl,” he says. It’s barely audible, but it still makes Max’s cock ache and his vision blur for a second and maybe his mouth waters too but maybe it’s just hot in the room because the dress suddenly feels too warm as well. He pushes through it though, helps Alex shove down his pants and boxers and gets a mouthful of Alex’s cock for his trouble.

Max hates pretending, he’s a shit actor anyways, and Alex _knows_ it so he has to know that Max’s high-pitched whine is genuine. It’s unintentional and embarrassing and it makes Max harder, especially when Alex doesn’t fuck in further or weave cruelty into his sweetness, just cups the back of his head with one warm hand and repeats _yeah, good girl_ under his breath.

Max grinds down onto the mattress as best he can without stopping. His eyes are closed and there are pinprick tears gathering on his lashes from the effort of trying to take all of Alex’s cock. Between focusing on not choking and getting the pressure against his confined dick _just right_ and the steady murmur of Alex’s voice he can’t spare a thought for anything else. He can’t even remember what he was trying to prove to himself. This is everything now and it’s overwhelming and perfect.

Alex squeezes his shoulder as a warning, and Max pulls off, startled. “Is everything oka—” Max rasps out, and he realizes too late what the squeeze meant. Streaks of come land on his mouth and cheeks, pepper his chest and slide down under the neckline of his dress.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Alex says, wiping at the fabric with one hand, the one still covered in spit from stroking himself through his orgasm. He looks and sounds blissed-out, clearly feeling bad but too boneless to do anything about it. Max just breathes through the burning heat that tears through him. He feels dirty, yeah, but also good, good girl, just like Alex said. He doesn’t want to just come against the mattress, though he could. Instead, he crawls into Alex’s lap and kisses him.

Alex giggles and shoves him away just enough that he can pull off his own shirt and use it to wipe some of the come off Max’s face. Max sits as still as he can but he’s been hard for what feels like millennia and he wants Alex’s hands on his body, not just his face. Preferably on his cock, but Max thinks he could get off even if he could just feel Alex’s hand resting on his chest or, god forbid, holding his hand. Alex is good though, a mind reader for the things Max doesn’t even know that he wants. He reaches back and palms Max’s ass with both hands, leaning up for a kiss as he does. Max kisses back with as much desperation as he can manage. He moans into Alex’s mouth as Alex pulls the panties down and jerks him off with one hand, the other still on Max’s ass, tapping him occasionally in encouragement.

Max comes in a sweet, frantic rush. He almost regrets it when it happens, because it means the moment will have to end, and then he’ll have to clean two people’s come out of his dress and think about whether he is ready for this to be his thing and also how Alex made a blowjob feel like something a whole lot more. But Alex doesn’t stop kissing him, even when he’s weak and panting, collapsed against Alex’s chest.

“Will you stay the night?” Max asks, face in Alex’s neck so Alex can’t see him blush. Maybe the moment doesn’t have to end quite yet.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr - redpainterly
> 
> title from emasculate by dorian electra, a true girldrivers anthem


End file.
